


Obituary

by hybrid_bpv



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Clint, Angst, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fake Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, References to Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Roleplay, Roleplaying Character, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:26:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hybrid_bpv/pseuds/hybrid_bpv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Natasha Romanoff faked her own death to protect her branch of S.H.I.E.L.D.. </p><p>As far as Clint is concerned, she's dead - they buried her, after all.</p><p>So what the hell is he supposed to think when she suddenly appears in his apartment?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obituary

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to tumblr user: specialagent-clintbarton, for being the Clint to my Tasha (: You go, bb. And Tess, for writing my summary! xx

Special Agent Natasha Romanoff. KIA. Member of S.H.I.E.L.D.

 

_Ever since joining S.H.I.E.L.D., Agent Romanoff was an active and appreciated member of our society. It is a terrible tragedy that she should have passed this way. Natasha will be missed dearly, and will be remembered for her exceptional skills on the field, and her impeccable perseverance._

 

_Clint Barton._

 

The lonesome archer sat in his apartment, a half-empty vodka bottle in his hand, and countless empty liquor bottles scattered and smashed on his floor. He checked his writing twice before sending it to Fury, Hill, Coulson, and Natasha, and hoped that she wouldn't kick his ass in hell.

 

~

 

"Really, Barton? Impeccable perseverance? I thought I was better than that." A voice, too familiar, struck Clint.

 

"You know, you usually leave a note before you go and fake your death." Clint's hand tightened around the beer bottle, deciding whether to throw it at the wall in anger or to drop it and engulf the assassin in a hug. His dog, Arrow, had already sought cover behind the table.

 

"You're a smart guy, Clint, I knew you'd be competent enough to figure it out. Sooner or later. Besides, don't you trust me enough?" She brought her hands up to his elbows, touching the rough skin with her fingertips. "I miss you too."

 

He grit his teeth, not buying anything she said, not in the least; she'd played him and she was worming her way out of it now. "You know, that crap might work on your marks, Romanoff, but I ain't your Goddammed mark. I'm your _partner_!" The beer bottle smashed against the wall. He couldn't give a shit as he flinched away from her touch. "Didn't you trust me enough to give me a damned sign? First Coulson pulls that shit on us, and now you? Dammit, Tasha, I watched them bury you!"

 

"Clint." Her voice struggled to stay flat. "Clint… you have to understand where I came from. It was for the best."

 

"It's always for the best, isn't it?" A bitter chuckled escaped his lips. "Bullshit! Why are you here? You think I'm gonna let you off the hook if you bat your eyelashes at me and throw an apology my way?" He shook his head, the copious amounts of beer were starting to take it's toll on him.

 

"I could've easily just gone away, Clint. Gone. Forever. Start a new life, a new identity. None of this assassin and spy bullshit. But I came back." She paused for a moment, looking into his eyes. Her green eyes searched fro his dull grey ones. They had lost the light that she knew, that they once held. All the glisten, the sparkling was gone. It was as if he had all his life drained out of him. " I came back for you."

 

"Then why the hell am I having a hard time believing you? Starting over ain't your thing, Widow. You're a spy. You _live_ for this. Hell, I've never seen anyone snap a guy's neck with a grin on their face." He caught her confused look and mouthed one word. "Siberia." He watched as the gears clicked in place as she remember that mission and couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "People always leave, don't they, Nat? What's stopping you from walking back out that door? What's the difference between Natalia and Natasha?"

 

"You." She simply said as she sank down on the sofa, holding a hand out to Arrow. The archer watched as Arrow, reeking of pizza, walked up to her and welcomed her by licking her hands. He always _did_ have a soft spot for the assassin. Clint didn't move, stood frozen as he watched her before taking his place next to her on the sofa, running a hand through his hair. "Natasha…" He beetled out helplessly and turned to face her, studying her usually unreadable face.

 

"You are the difference." She said once a gain, bringing her knees up and crossing them, before scooping Arrow up on her laps and scratching the spot behind his ears.

 

A smile finally crept across his face, it was small, but it was there. His gaze locked onto her's, his heart tightening in his chest as he debated on whether to kiss her or not; he was sure that if he did, he'd end up on the floor. Instead, he reached forward and caressed her cheek with his calloused fingers. "You hungry?"

 

"Hungry for you." She gave him a small smile. "I miss you, Clint. I say this from my heart."

 

The comment extracted a laugh from the archer. "You gonna kiss me with that mouth?" 

 

The tension dissolved slowly as the two returned to being their usual selves with their usual back and forth bantering. A groan erupted from his lips as his fingers rubbed the temple. "Damn, I'm going to feel this in the morning." Clint huffed. He could always hold his liquor, but, unfortunately, even _he_ could't hold up against 3 bottles of vodka. The corners of his mouth quirked up. "Missed you too." The words were uttered in such pristine Russian before he reverted back to English. "You going soft on me, Romanoff?"

 

"Maybe…" She gave him a small moan between kisses as her lips brushed against his. "If… I…" Her hands came up to his shoulders as she kissed him, driving her tongue into his mouth. "Jesus, Clint, how much alcohol have you consumed today? No - scrap that. In the past hour? How many fucking bottles have you had?"

 

His eyes darkened as he pulled her closer, running his fingers through her hair before pulling her onto his lap the second Arrow jumped off the. Her question caught him off guard, and he stilled before kissing her neck. "Doesn't matter." he murmured, not ready to give her an answer.

 

"It does matter." She sprayed her fingers, laying them flat on his hard abs above his stomach. "So you've been mourning, I see. You're much more defined than you were when I… I didn't think that was possible."

 

He avoided her gaze, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yeah? Well, clocking in hours at the gym beats all… this." He gestured lazily to the messy apartment with broken furniture and punched-in walls.

 

"How many?" Natasha asked again, firmly. "I need to know."

 

He sighed, finally caving in, but still avoiding her gaze. "Lost count after I emptied the cabinet." He answered, knowing that she knew the exact quantity of liquor that once occupied it. "Like father, like son, huh?" He uttered with a bitter laugh.

 

"No." She took his hand in hers, stroking the rough skin with her thumb. "You've never hit me… well, sparring… but… I trust you enough… I trust you so much." Natasha paused for a moment, a frown knitting itself on her face. "I caused it."

 

He pressed his hand against hers, seeking the comfort that he needed, but stayed silent, opting not to speak, because she couldn't hear the words he wanted to say. Yes, she _did_ cause it. He spoke again, after a while, raising his free hand and placing it on her cheek. "Just, uh, just don't leave again, you got that?"

 

"Sir, yes, sir!" She stood up right, saluting him, her body stiffened for a good 5 seconds before softening, a sad smile on her face. "I'm sorry, Clint. I never set out to hurt you. I - I love you."

 

He chuckled at her playful nature, nudging her thigh with his foot and breaking out into a grin. Her words, however, stopped him dead in his tracks. "You - You've never said that out loud before." He sat upright, his back leaning against the armrest of the sofa. "Why now?"

 

"I…" She heaved a few deep breaths, gulping. "I, just… needed you to know. After the stunt I pulled, I… especially when you - " She waved a hand around his apartment, eyeing the mess.

 

Clint allowed his free hand to run through her hair before pulling her down and kissing her, silencing her before she said anything further.

 

"Pull a stunt like this again, Romanoff, and I'm coming to after you myself." He whispered into her ear before kissing her again.

 

In that moment, she was what mattered, not her betrayal - she'd come back to him. Just like Budapest.

 

She always came back to him.

 

And she always will.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think... Leave kudos/comments/bookmarks? Thank you for reading! xx


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